


your own special hopes, your own special dreams

by LucilleBarker



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Miscarriage, Mother-Son Relationship, Pre-Canon, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21541690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucilleBarker/pseuds/LucilleBarker
Summary: Ruth McGill becomes a mother again eighteen years after having her first child. Chuck grew up to become so much like his father... would Jimmy take anything from her?
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	1. Happy Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth McGill shares some news with her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussion of miscarriages

“What?”

“I’m pregnant, Charlie.”

Ruth McGill watched her husband from where she was sitting on their bed, his mouth open like a fish going through shock of finding itself out of water. He had waltzed in through the door, asking what was for dinner and how one of the new boys at the grocery store was giving him guff. He explained in detail about how he was patient, but how he also deserved more respect with all his experience, and maybe it was time to finally start is own business now that Chuck was setting the world on fire with his accomplishments.

She had to repeat the same words over and over again in an attempt to get his attention. It also connected her to a reality she had not expected. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. _I’m pregnant, Charlie._

“B-but…what?” Charlie stuttered. “What? I don’t—what? How?”

Ruth tilted her head forward and pursed her lips. “I think you know how.”

“I know how, but… how now? I mean, why now? After all this time?”

Ruth shook her head. “I wouldn’t get too excited. We both know that getting pregnant has never been a problem for me.”

She remembered finding out she was pregnant with Chuck, and how that led to getting married to Charles McGill when she was only sixteen in a very Catholic ceremony. Her mother and father looked on, somehow finding a way to look down on her while sitting in their pew—shame on her for getting pregnant out of wedlock, but at least the sweet and upstanding Charles McGill came to rescue her. And he was sweet and upstanding. She couldn’t have asked for a better husband.

Of course, despite being a human angel, Charlie was never the creative type or one for bothering people. While she slept off the pains of giving birth, the nurse asked him what their baby boy would be called. The only name he could come up with was Charles McGill, Jr. “I’m so sorry I didn’t wait for you, I should have, I know! I panicked, and his middle name is Lindbergh because it’s your family name,” Charlie had babbled. “I promise, next time and all the times after, names are your department.”

But after Chuck, Ruth McGill’s other pregnancies never turned into next times.

Charlie’s voice called her back to the present. “Ruth, do you know what this is? This is a miracle.”

“Charlie, please don’t—“

“I feel it. God is giving us another chance with this baby.”

Ruth clenched her teeth. Attending mass was a compromise she had made with Charlie when they first got married, despite her own lapsed faith. She was preemptively dreading Father Mahoney walking up to her and chatting about how God was truly watching over them. 

“You have said that so many times, Charlie,” she sighed. “Please don’t get your hopes up.”

“I’m not getting my—“

“And let’s say you're right, and this is another chance. We have to be realistic. Think about what this means. I’m thirty-four years old—I’ll be thirty-five when this baby is born. Chuck is already out of the house and going to college! I’m too old to have another baby, I can’t do this again. I could barely do it when we had Chuck.”

The bed springs dipped under Ruth as Charlie sat by her side. His fingers twitched and curled as if grasping for something intangible until his hesitancy morphed into a gentle affectionate grip on her hand.

“Ruth,” he said softly. “You are a wonderful mother. And whatever happens, I will be right by you.”

Ruth looked at his hand and observed how age had worn away at his skin—scars, spots, slightly leathery. His hand almost enveloped hers entirely. Entwined her fingers between his and squeezed his hand tight in her grip.

* * *

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Chuck fretted.

“You graduated from high school at fourteen, Chuckie. I’m sure you can handle holding a baby. Sit down in the rocking chair, and then I’ll hand him to you.”

Charlie had volunteered for extra shifts at the grocery store, and despite his own full plate, Chuck swooped in and immediately offered to help Ruth. Of course, in his mind, he had been expecting to help pay bills and run errands while she did the “mothering.” She quickly made it clear that this would not be the case—she had been sleeping in the nursery more often than in her own bed, and the first thing she needed from him was to let her tired arms have a break.

“Mom, please, don’t call me ‘Chuckie.’”

“My apologies, Mr. McGill, I forgot that you were an eighteen-year-old man and no longer the child I changed diapers for. I will refrain from using any more pet names. Now hold your brother.”

Holding her newborn son in one arm and rearranging her eldest son’s anxious limbs with the other, Ruth placed James Morgan McGill into Chuck’s arms, instructing him to mind the baby’s head and take a few breaths to relax. Chuck’s eyes were fixed in awe and horror at the tiny figure that rested near his arms. He looked exactly like Charles, Sr. when he held Chuck as a baby for the first time. Shared names, shared expressions, and shared nobility—they could be the same person if it weren’t for Chuck’s inherent intellectual gifts. It’s probably why Chuck cried more for his father growing up more than he did for Ruth. Would she and Jimmy share anything?

“He’s so small,” Chuck whispered.

“Trust me, they get bigger. And then they start talking,” she joked. She turned her attention to the baby as he gave a big yawn, and her voice turned more playful as she stroked his cheek. “And this one was born talking, weren’t you, little man? Yes, you’re gonna give me lots of trouble, huh?”

“Crying and talking aren’t the same thing, Mom.” Again, cut from the same cloth as his father, Chuck was not one for humor.

“I’ll tell you what, when you have kids of your own, we’ll compare notes on the differences between crying and talking.”

At that moment, the baby began to move in Chuck’s arms and gave a tiny groan.

“Oh, no—“ Chuck tensed, and Ruth couldn’t tell if Chuck was about to collapse in on himself or throw the baby across the room in fright.

“It’s okay, he’s just wiggling,” Ruth explained. “If you stay calm, so will he. Just take a few breaths, and if he starts crying, I’ll take him back.”

Chuck inhaled and exhaled, almost forcing himself to remain calm. And then it was quiet again, the baby breathing evenly, almost snoring.

“You see?” said Ruth. “You’re good with him. You have nothing to worry about.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”

She smiled and stroked her fingers through her eldest son’s blond hair. Chuck paused, looked at his little brother, and then turned back to his mother.

“This is terrifying,” he said. Not an admission or a confession. His tone was matter-of-fact and declarative.

Ruth thought about the months where she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. How her stomach grew bigger, but she still tampered her hope after years of heartbreak. How she screamed and cried as contractions rocked her body, and how she held her baby boy in her arms as he wailed at the newness of the world around him. Her boy was a survivor. Both of her boys were.

“It’s absolutely terrifying,” she agreed before turning her attention as the baby started hiccuping. She cooed, “But it’s okay, right Jimmy? Hi, Jimmy! Jimmy…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is so much I want to know about Ruth McGill, so the plan for this is to be a multi-chapter fic that touches on moments hinted at during the series. I fully expect this to be even slightly AU by the time the fifth season airs, but that’s okay.


	2. Honey Bun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles McGill, Sr. has his own store, and Ruth is trying to balance her life and the books.

“ _A hundred and one pounds of fun_

_She’s my little honey bun_

_Get a load of Honey Bun tonight_ …”

Ruth had been singing softly to herself for the last few hours as she marked number after number in the store ledger. Charlie was passionate about his store, but he had suggested that she assist in accounting and bookkeeping so that he can manage the day to day. Of course she agreed to do it—he was her husband, she was his wife, it was her duty. But that meant her commute to the theatre became much harder.

Many, many years ago, around the time Chuck began taking piano lessons, Ruth felt her own drive to return to performing on stage. Charlie was supportive, but she had caught the brief discomfort in his face. He had the same expression when they were just beginning to go steady and she had told him about how she had seen the musical _Oklahoma_ with her father on a trip to New York, and she dreamed of moving there to become an actress. Then she got pregnant and fell in love at the same time, and the dream shifted into a more traditional ideal.

After telling him about the community theatre that her friend Gretchen had told her about, Charlie had suggested participating in the church’s chorus or making costumes for the nativity play instead. Something that aligned with their values and allows for wholesome entertainment for young Chuck. Ruth had said she would consider it, and turned around and auditioned for the Cicero Community Players’ production of The Importance of Being Earnest. Any time she had available, she was making costumes, painting sets, or getting a chance to play a supporting character or sing in the chorus. The first time the Cicero Community Players did _South Pacific_ , she had managed to swipe the lead of Nellie. She remembered crafting a coconut bra while singing “Honey Bun” to a two-year-old Jimmy. He would grin and clap as she sang to him about how Honey Bun’s hips “twirly” and “whirly.” Then she would go perform while Charlie watched Jimmy at home. In the same way she had compromised with him that she would attend mass, they had made a compromise that he didn’t have to see a show. (“I know it’s pretend,” he had said, “but it’s scary for me when you’re standing on a stage saying that you love someone that isn't me.”)

Now she was playing Nellie again, thanks in part to years of dedication and looking younger than her forty-seven years. The fact that Marty Cochran was playing Emile at fifty-four also played a hand in that—she had heard whispers from the teenage and twenty-year-old girls about how they wanted the lead, but as soon as they learned Ruth would be sharing a stage kiss with Marty, they were suddenly very grateful to be in the chorus.

But she longed for another chance at youth as she juggled a full-time job in her husband’s store, balancing books that could never be balanced no matter how hard she tried, danced choreography despite her joints disliking every step-kick-turn, and on top of all that—

“Hey, Mom!”

Ruth jumped at the call, and found two twelve-year-old boys staring at her. Mischievous blue eyes in a thin face were peaking from behind the right side of the doorframe, while his sweet, round-faced friend stood waving at her in dead center of the frame.

“Jimmy, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“Hi, Mrs. McGill!”

“Hello, Marco. Jimmy, what are you doing here?”

“Free period!” Jimmy announced.

“Yeah, free period!” Marco parroted.

Ruth’s eyes narrowed. “Really? A free period?”

“Yeah!”

“So if I call the school right now—“

“They’ll say the same thing,” Jimmy said.

Ruth examined each boy, noting how both were smiling but their torsos and limbs were stiff, anticipating. She could easily call their bluff, use her lunch break to get them back to school. But then that would already cut into her own desperately needed time.

“Alright,” she conceded. “But if you’re going to be here, you’re doing homework.”

“We don’t have homework!” Jimmy insisted.

Marco nodded. “Yeah, we don’t have homework!”

Ruth smiled. “Well, then it’s my lucky day! You can help me run lines while I take my lunch break.”

“But Mom—“

“It’s either that, or you’re spending your free period at school.”

Jimmy locked eyes with her, and she continued smiling at him, lifting her eyebrows. _Go ahead_ , she thought. _You can bluff all you want, but you know that I **never** bluff. _

Jimmy sighed and turned to Marco. “We’re sailing a ship to _South Pacific_.”

“Choo-choo.”

“That’s a train, Marco,” Jimmy deadpanned.

“... toot-toot?”

Ruth chuckled. “Marco, why don’t you get yourself a packet of Little Debbie’s, okay? My treat.”

Marco’s dark eyes widened and glittered and he raced off to search for his promised edible treasure. Ruth closed the ledger, placing a strip of torn notebook paper in the space where she would return to after a much needed break from staring at it. Before she closed the book, she took out a pencil and made a note on the torn scrap: “ _25 cents for SCR, mark in book, and place in till before rehearsal.”_ She leaned under the desk, finding the bent and worn copy of her script. She handed it to Jimmy as he sat down in the chair opposite her, and then pulled out a ham and cheese sandwich she had packed at home. She had cut it in half at a diagonal, just in case Charlie had forgotten to eat again. But instead, she lifted one half up to Jimmy, and the boy grinned and took it.

“When’s opening night again?” Jimmy asked, his words muffled by the food he was attempting to chew at the same time.

“Three weeks. But I have to have all these lines and songs in my head by tomorrow. Oh, and when we get to rehearsal tonight, I really need you to stay inside the theatre. You can read one of your comic books or something, but you nearly gave me a heart attack last time.”

“Is Chuck coming?”

Ruth shook her head. “You know he can’t. He just moved to Delaware. It wouldn’t make sense for him come all the way out here every time his mother is in a show. Besides, he’s working very hard.”

“He’s always working,” Jimmy muttered. Ruth could hear his disappointment—Jimmy loved people and companionship, and Chuck was the nut that he was still trying to crack. “After the show opens, can I watch from the wings?”

“Ummmmm… no. Nice try, though.”

“Why not? I used to do it all the time.”

“Well, you were much younger, and that was before you walked in on Rose Donahue in her skivvies.”

Jimmy blushed. “Mom! Don’t say that, it’s so weird!”

Ruth feigned confusion. “Say what? Was it the word ‘walked?’ You’re right, it’s an offensive word. Mothers should say more motherly things like ‘I made cookies’ and ‘skivvies.’”

Jimmy covered his ears and began to babble, repeating the words, “I can’t hear you, you didn’t say that, not listening.”

“What isn’t he listening to?” Marco asked from the doorway, talking around a chocolate Swiss cake roll, fingers picking for any remaining morsels from the package. Right behind him was Charlie, cleaning his glasses without taking his bemused eyes off of Ruth and Jimmy.

“I found Mr. McGill,” Marco declared before meandering into an empty seat next to Jimmy.

“Shouldn’t you be at school, Jimmy?” Charlie asked.

Before either Jimmy or Marco could plead their case, Ruth interjected. “They have a free period.”

Charlie looked at her and nodded. “If they’re bothering you, I can—“

“It’s okay. They’re both going to help me run lines for the show. Right, Honey Bun?”

Jimmy’s ears turned red, but he smiled. “Right, Nellie.”

“Okay, then,” Charlie said. “But I’m a little backed up here, so I’m going to need Jimmy to mind the register tonight.”

“I told you this morning that I was taking him to rehearsal,” Ruth argued. She had tried her best to keep Jimmy out of the store—“Just let him be a kid, Charlie”—but the moment Charlie realized owning his own shop was too much for him alone, he decided that it would be a good idea to teach Jimmy responsibility. But the pitfalls of a family business meant that in order for the McGills to even attempt to break even, no one could get paid for their work.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Jimmy said. “I’ll stay and help Dad.”

Ruth’s eyes shifted between her husband and her son. If Marco weren’t there, if Jimmy had homework, she probably would have insisted that he come to the theatre with her. Then the bell above the entrance jingled, and that was the signal that his was a fight she would have to let go.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Now go run your store, I have to memorize my lines.”

Charlie mouthed a “thank you” before rushing over to greet a customer. She heard the quiet, somber tone of the customer talking. She didn’t need to hear any of that right now.

“Alright, Honey Bun. Go to the top of Act II. You and Marco and switch off, and use this pencil to mark any lines that I missed...”


	3. Dites-Moi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth discovers her husband had Chuck review the store’s books, and her patience has finally run out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set shortly after the story Chuck told Kim in 2x02 “Rebecca.”

Ruth shoved the bedroom door closed, and the slam echoed through the house and caused an additional ripple to the rage that vibrated through her. Charlie’s stared at her, midway through buttoning up his pajama shirt with eyes wide and mouth agape. Sweat was beading on his forehead, either because of the summer heat of early July or the oncoming wrath he was about to endure. He had seen her upset, he had seen her angry, but even she knew that this was a side of herself that she had never unleashed. But sometimes dormant volcanoes can no longer handle the pressure.

And an eruption was long overdue.

“You asked Chuck to go over our books?” she seethed.

“Ruth, he wanted to help—“

“Then why didn’t you ask me about it, Charlie!” she snapped. “You ask me to help you at the store, ask me specifically to do the bookkeeping because you need to focus on the day-to-day. And then you ask our oldest son to make sure his mother didn’t make a mistake?”

“I didn’t say you made a mistake, honey.”

“Don’t call me, ‘honey,’ it’s so patronizing—“

Charlie lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry! I mean it, I’m sorry. But we’re losing money, Ruth. The store is losing money, and I have to know why.”

“Charlie, you know why. You keep giving our money away.”

“I… I don’t… It’s just money.”

“No. You can’t complain about losing money, and then say ‘it’s just money’ when I mention that you’re giving it away.” 

“Ruth…”

“And it’s not just money, it’s _our money_ , Charlie. Ours. Yours and mine. Money we’re supposed to be using to raise our son. We can’t keep a business afloat if you keep giving our money away to any grifter with a sob story that comes into the store—“

“Ruth, please, keep your voice down. And watch your language—Jimmy has been using words like ‘grifter’ and ‘asshole,’”—Charlie doesn’t verbalize either offensive word, but mouths them—“and it’s probably because he can hear us.”

“So I’m to blame for our son’s language?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“I mean, I might as well be, right? Ruth McGill can’t keep her tongue and she definitely can’t balance an account ledger. Let’s look for other things to blame me for. How about this two bedroom house? Your choice of toothbrush? Oh, I know, this fight! I’m definitely the reason we’re having this fight.”

“We’re not fighting.”

“ _This is a fucking fight, Charlie! Stop telling me I’m wrong!_ ” The words spill out of her in a shrill sound, and her voice feels raw. There’s a brief moment of gratitude that Chuck was out of the house—an old high school friend of his had encouraged him to catch up over drinks. Jimmy, on the other hand, was still in his room. There was no possible way that he could not hear his own mother screaming at his father.

Charlie squirmed, brought up a hand to cautiously adjust the wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose, and then placed both hands in his lap and sat there on the bed. He was quiet, his breathing shallow and silent. Ruth waited for whatever he was gathering himself to say. Just tell me the truth, she begged.

“Ruth,” Charlie stuttered. “Chuck suspects that… well, there’s $14,000 unaccounted for.” 

“I know that,” she said. 

“And he… Chuck told me that he believes… he believes Jimmy has been taking money out of the till. Keeping it for himself.”

Ruth almost forgot how to breathe. “Are you serious?”

Charlie exhaled, rubs at his eyes and his forehead. “I know. I told him, I told him that it can’t be Jimmy—“

“Why would you say that?”

Charlie stopped, brow furrowed. “That I said that it can’t be Jimmy,” he repeated, this time it sounded more like a question than the allegation he had made. Ruth swallowed, but the lump in her throat did not dissipate. Her eyes were stinging with tears that were tired of her rage and strength of will holding them back. 

“I told you that we were having a fight,” she recounted. She paces herself, gives space for each sentence to land. “I told you that you constantly insist that I’m wrong. I told you that you’ve been giving our money away. And suddenly you have to tell me that there’s $14,000 missing—and I told you there was money missing before it became $14,000—and that Chuck suspects Jimmy of taking money out of the till?” 

A year ago, Ruth had gone to visit Gretchen after finding out Gretchen’s husband had an affair and they were getting a divorce. She held Gretchen’s hand while her friend cried and fretted, but then Gretchen told her that the moment she found out about Paul’s mistress, she had felt a shift. “We tried for a bit,” Gretchen sniffled. “Tried to carry on like normal, like it wasn’t happening. I tried very hard. But I knew I couldn’t trust him anymore. I would rather be shunned at my church than stand next to a man I didn’t love anymore.”

Charlie looked up at her after everything she had just said. He said nothing, looking completely innocent. She felt the shift.

“You just can’t accept responsibility, can you?” she whispered.

Charlie closed his eyes, as if the perfect words were behind his eyelids. “Ruth, I just said it probably wasn’t Jimmy—“

“Charlie, if you wanted to devote your life to charity, then you should have become a priest, not a business owner. Jesus Christ, Charlie. Even if, _if_ Jimmy has been stealing our money, you are just as bad as he is if you treat our livelihood like it’s nothing! You want so badly to be the righteous man that does a good thing. But what I need... what I’ve always needed was a good man that does the right thing.”

Ruth passed him in a rush, snatching her blue flannel robe out of their closet and proceeded to cross back to the bedroom door.

“W-where are you going?” Charlie stuttered.

“I can’t even look at you right now.” She turned the doorknob—

“Ruth, wait, let’s talk about this. Or if you’re truly upset, if you need some space, I’ll go sleep on the couch. You take the bed! Please.“

She shook her head. Goddamn him, more than thirty years together really taught him how to pull at her heartstrings. He was determined to find the harmony. Could he not hear how out of tune and broken it was?

“Charlie, guilt and nobility are not the same thing. I’m going to sleep on the couch, it’ll be easier to explain to the kids if I say I was up all night reading a script or a book.” 

“Ruth. I want to fix this. How do I fix it?” She lifted her head and glanced at him. He remained on the bed, still as a statue. His eyes were glassy, waiting for her to give him a solution that didn’t exist.

“Let me know when you figure out how,” she said. “I’m going to call my mother tomorrow and suggest that Jimmy and I drive up to visit her for a few weeks. We’re midway through summer, and it would be good for Jimmy to get out of the city for a bit. I also think it’s best that I tender my resignation as your bookkeeper. I’ll be looking for employment elsewhere.”

The door clicked behind her, and Ruth covered her mouth before her cry could alert Charlie to come after her and comfort her and beg her. The noise dampened to a quiet moan, and she evened out her breath, counting the seconds of each inhale and exhale. Satisfied with the numbness she created and now certain that Charlie wouldn’t trot after her, she moved away from the hallway and into the living area. 

The lamps were already on, and there was her Jimmy, wearing pajamas that were a size too big and sitting on the couch.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

He heard. _You knew he would_ , she reminded herself.

“You should be asleep,” she stated. It wasn’t a demand or a motherly reprimand. Just an observation, really.

Jimmy shrugged. “Couldn’t.”

Ruth weighed her options. She could ask him what he heard. She could insist he go to bed, get some sleep because he had school in the morning. She could ask him about what Chuck accused him of.

Or... “I’m not feeling well,” she said, “so I’m going to stay up and read for a bit. You can sit with me, if you would like. Get a book or—”

“Can we watch TV instead?” he asked softly.

She smiled. Half of the action felt genuine. “Sure.”

They fell asleep some time after Mary Tyler Moore and Lou Grant had a fight, she sitting up straight while Jimmy’s rested head on her shoulder. Ruth briefly awoke when she heard the crackle of the television set, and scratchy crocheted yarn was draped over her and Jimmy’s bodies.

She groaned, tried to curl away from the affection. A hand patted hers.

“Shh, it’s Chuck, Mom. It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

Ruth mumbled, and easily found herself swept away by the escape of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During 3x08 “Slip,” Marco had mentioned that Jimmy’s mom did the record-keeping. So I found it interesting that Chuck would be the one going over the books and telling his father about Jimmy’s embezzlement. I wouldn’t be surprised if they both went over Ruth’s head, and there are so many implications that come with an action like that. I doubt that anyone would let that slide.


	4. This Nearly Was Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth, Chuck, and Jimmy McGill face a devastating loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: suicide

“So this movie is about King Arthur but doesn’t have horses?”

“No, they’re banging coconuts together and skipping around!”

Joan Pasternak takes a drag from her cigarette, shaking her head as she mentally tries to wrap her head around the image.

“I don’t know how you let Jimmy convince you to see these movies,” she says.

“Well, we take turns picking the movies,” Ruth clarifies. “He did see _Funny Lady_ with me.”

“Oh, that was such a good movie!”

“Oh no, it wasn’t!” Ruth guffawed. “Not nearly as good as _Funny Girl_.”

“Nothing can ever be as good as _Funny Girl_ , Ruthie. But the voice on Barbra? She should get an Oscar every time she opens her mouth.”

“All I know is that if I was told I had to watch _Funny Lady_ again, I’d much rather watch strange British men skipping around pretending to be knights.”

“You said you didn’t understand a word of it,” Joan giggled.

“I think I’m beginning to talk myself into liking it.” 

The store Charlie had dreamed of had shuttered its doors about one month after Ruth quit. Charlie returned to the grocery store, begged for his old store manager job back, but his former boss had promoted a sweet young man named Dave. Instead. Charlie found himself back a the bottom of the ladder—stocking soup cans and running the register every now and again. 

Joan Pasternak had found her a job waitressing at a dingy diner. Due to the odd hours she and Charlie worked, she made a key for Jimmy. “You go straight home after school,” she told him. “You take the bus, you walk home, and you work on homework until either your dad or I get home. No TV, and there will be food in the fridge that you can heat up.” On the days when Ruth got home first, the warmth from an overused television set would greet her before her son did.

“We’ve got another five minutes,” Ruth said. “I think I might head back inside early. Maybe help Sammy out with the dishwashing for a bit before I’m back on the floor.”

“Hey,” Joan stopped her. Her voice, usually a jovial and bombastic thing, had softened. “Are you and Charlie going to talk to the kids?”

Ruth bit the inside of her cheeks, nodded.

“Chuck is flying in today. Said he’d take a taxi home. And then on Friday, we’re going to wait for Jimmy to get home from school. Let them have the weekend to process it.”

For six months, she and Charlie had been living separate lives. As separate as they could be when sharing a house. A schedule filled with the occasional night shift helped, but there was an unspoken contract of who would get the bedroom one night and the couch another. All three of them—Charlie, Ruth, and Jimmy—would still attend Sunday morning mass to keep up appearances. After months of Charlie trying to convince her it could be like it was before, Ruth grew tired of keeping up appearances. While Jimmy was asleep, she told Charlie what she wanted.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Joan soothed. She flicked her cigarette to the concrete, smashing it with the tip of her shoe. “I know a lot of couples that stay together just for the kids, and I think it messes the kids up even more than divorce.”

“I think the damage is done, no matter what we do.”

* * *

Ruth folded the note. Opened it again. Read one line.

_ Dear Ruth— _

She folded it again. Opened it again.

_ I’m sorry for the— _

Folded it. Opened it.

_ —you deserved— _

Folded it. Opened it.

_ Tell the boys that I— _

Folded it. Folded it over again, and again, and again until it was a tight worn ball. The carpet muffled approaching feet, chair legs scraped linoleum, and out of her periphery she saw two clasped hands.

“I can go to the school, and pick him up.“

She shook her head.

“Mom...”

“I said, no.” Her throat was tight, but was that voice hers? It sounded like hers. 

“There’s no point waiting—“

“Chuck, let him feel normal for a few more hours, please!”

Chuck paused, took a breath, exhaled a sigh. “Alright,” he replied.

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t—he looked just like him. She blindly reached out her hand, her fingers tracing over every scratch on the secondhand wood table until she found one of Chuck’s hands. Gripped it in hers so tight that she must have been crushing him pain. “I’m sorry,” she croaked.

Ruth was the one who found his note. And then she found him in the closet. Everything that happened afterward was like jagged pieces of glass she tried to fit together in her mind, but thinking about them cut into her deeper. There were paramedics. She called 9-1-1. A gurney rolled through a crowd of neighbors as they gathered outside. She was telling Charlie she was going to work. She was screaming at Chuck to stay outside the bedroom. Chuck asked questions about what needed to be done at the coroner’s as she searched her hand, wondered where her wedding ring was. Why wasn’t she wearing it? 

“He was fine yesterday,” Chuck murmured. “He seemed fine.”

The seconds lasted forever. Chuck asked her something. She didn’t hear it. He gently disentangled his hand for hers and told her that she at least had to “try to eat.” The gas of the stovetop crackled on, and a spatula scraped against the surface of the pan. And then there were scrambled eggs and a piece of toast in front of her.

“I’m not hungry,” she said.

“Well, just look at it for a bit,” Chuck offered. “Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

The front door creaked.

“Hey, Chuck, I’m home!” 

_ I can’t do this _ , Ruth thought.  _ I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this... _

“Hey, Mom, what’re you doing here? Mom? Are you okay?” Jimmy’s voice cracked. He was thirteen-years-old. He was growing up.  _ But he’s only thirteen.  _ She wasn’t ready to destroy his childhood. To destroy the world as he knew it.

“Jimmy…” she said. “Can you—? Can you, um, sit down? Please?”

Jimmy didn’t sit. At least not in a chair. Instead, he sat on the floor, sitting as close to his mother as possible. She probably could have told him if she didn’t have to look at his face, look into his blue eyes. But Jimmy had a natural sense when something was wrong, and he demanded to be front and center. He would not be ignored, ever. 

“What’s happening?” Jimmy asked.

_ I can’t, I can’t, I can’t... _

“Dad‘s dead.”

Ruth nearly choked. Chuck said it before she could. Maybe he was protecting her. But his manner was so direct. It was almost devoid of any feeling at all.

Any color in Jimmy’s pale Irish cheeks faded in an instant. “W-what?”

“Dad died while you were at school,” Chuck said.

“What? No, it’s not—How?” Jimmy was staring right at her, grasping at her chair’s legs, holding tight.

_ Dear Ruth— _

Chuck started to speak. “He—

“He had a broken heart.” Ruth could feel Chuck’s eyes on her. She had just lied to her youngest son, and she was sure whatever righteousness Charlie left behind manifested in Chuck in that very moment.

“A heart attack?” Jimmy gasped. “Dad had a heart attack?”

_ Dear Ruth— _

“It wasn’t a heart attack. It just… it was just broken.”

It wasn’t the truth. At the same time, it wasn’t a lie. She collapsed on the ground and held Jimmy as he shivered and sobbed, and her own tears managed to escape as she rocked her baby boy back and forth. Chuck kneeled next to them, and put a hand on her shoulder. But his touch felt barely there.

* * *

Ruth knocked on the door. “Jimmy, it’s Mom.”

There wasn’t an answer. The sound of feet padded across the floor and the door clicked open as the feet padded away. She pushed the door open with her shoulder, and held the tray aloft.

“I brought you food,” she said.

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled. He was sitting on his bed, still wearing his white shirt and black dress pants. Unlike the minefield of T-shirts and jeans across the floor, his suit jacket was neatly folded over his desk chair along with his tie. 

“Jimmy, you need to eat something.”

His eyes were trained on the dirt he was picking out of his short nails. “Only if you do,” he said.

Ruth huffed. The boy could call a bluff. “Alright,” she said.

She placed the tray over his stretched out legs, and then sat next to him. She picked up one half of a sandwich—ham and cheese on white—and gave it a good once over before nibbling off a corner. It tasted like small pits of flavorless plastic and rubber sandwiched between dirt. She then held it up and pointed at her victory. Behold, she thought, the corner of this sandwich is no more. All hail, Ruth McGill.

Jimmy took no notice. 

“It’s my fault,” he whimpered.

“What’s your fault, sweetie?”

“Chuck told me how Dad died.” 

_ Goddammit, Chuck _ . “Chuck shouldn’t have told you that,” she admonished. 

“I wanted to know how,” he said. His voice broke as he said, “And now I know why.”

“It’s not your fault, Jimmy.”

“I should have done something.”

“Jimmy—“

“I should have helped more at the store. I should have stayed home that day. I should have been nicer about—“

“Jimmy!” Ruth moved the tray down to the floor and gripped her son’s shoulders, giving him enough of a shake to jolt him out of a hell he had begun creating for himself.

“What your father did is not because of you or me or anyone else,” she said. “He was hurting, and he… he is responsible for his own actions. You did not kill your father. Okay?”

Jimmy nodded, using his sleeve to wipe away tears and snot on his face. Then he asked her, “What are we gonna do?”

Ruth ran her hands through his hair, the brown strands still slightly stiff from the pomade. “We go on. Not as if nothing happened, but… we try to find normal again. You can start with a bath. And then we both can try to get some sleep. If sleep happens, fine. If it doesn’t? At least we tried.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Breaking Bad, after Skylar kicks Walt out and he is living in the Beachcomber Apartments, Saul tells Walt not to hang himself in the closet. It seemed very specific for such a soulless statement.


	5. You’ve Got to be Carefully Taught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth and Jimmy’s relationship shifts as they go through financial troubles and the beginnings of Jimmy’s teenage years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here he comes! Slippin’ Jimmy’s origin story, as I imagine it. For someone who boasted about earning eight grand for a fall, I have to wonder three things: 1) why? 2) where did that money go? 3) how did Ruth not know??

Gas and heating was paid, water was paid… as usual, it was electricity that had to sit by the wayside until Ruth’s next paycheck came in. Candlelight danced to the evening’s rhythms as wax dripped down the thin body and onto the dining table. Not unlike tears that hardened back into its original waxy material.

“What are you doing?”

Ruth lifted her head, propping her cheek on her knuckles. Jimmy stood over her, large brown T-shirt thin with wear and a mismatched pair of blue striped boxers. He was holding a flashlight in one hand, pointing it in such a way that almost made her feel like she was back with the Cicero Community Players with a bright spotlight on her.

“Grown up stuff,” she responded. “What are you doing?”

Jimmy shrugged. “Do you think we’ll get the TV back on by Saturday?”

“Why?”

“ _Saturday Night Live_.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s a show. I was thinking that maybe Marco could come over and watch it. Maybe spend the night—“

 _Oh god_ , she thought. She knew that the lights wouldn’t be back up by Saturday. The earliest she could hope for a check was on Friday, but she was already going to miss a day of work because she had another interview for a second job. Another possible waitressing gig after a long string of rejections for secretary work and cashiering. Charlie’s death a few months back left a large hole in their family. The income did not matter as much as the man… but that didn’t mean the loss of income hadn’t left it’s own impact. Devastation should only end when you know you’re disappointing your children—there should never be witnesses.

“Can you ask Mrs. Pasternak if you can spend the night?” Ruth suggested.

“I already spent the night at Marco’s two weeks ago,” he countered.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Honey Bun.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ugh, don’t call me that.”

“Watch your tone,” she snapped. Her voice wasn’t loud, but the sharpness of her frustration was enough to make her son jump. She forced a smile, rubbing at the crease forming on her forehead.

“So,” she said, attempting a new lightness, “you have a birthday coming up. Fourteen! Do you want anything special?”

Jimmy’s eyes moved around the darkened space, and he turned the flashlight over and over in his hand. “No,” he said. “I don’t need anything.”

Ruth raised her eyebrows. “Birthdays aren’t about what you need, they’re about what you want.”

“Mom…” Jimmy sighed. “We don’t even have the money for electricity.”

There was a pause. Words from a conversation she had with Chuck the previous week cut back into her. _Mom, let me help pay for your bills_ , he insisted. _Mom, you can’t do this on your own._ She would not hear of it, it was “his money,” he should be building his own life.

_I don’t mind, Mom. It’s the right thing to do._

“Let me worry about the money,” Ruth rallied. “Go back to bed, and think about what you want for your birthday.”

Jimmy didn’t move for a few moments, but then he nodded. He seemed to understand. Even if he didn’t understand her determination, he must have understood something. He wrapped one arm around her, and pressed his cheek to the top of her head.

“‘Night, Mom,” he said.

“‘Night, Jimmy.”

She watched her son retreat into the dark hallway of their small home, guided only by his flashlight.

* * *

Ruth shut the door, only a few flecks of snow succeeding in follow her into the house. She toed off her high heels, rolling each ankle to work out the aches of a long day. She placed her winter coat on the rack, but kept her scarf wrapped around her neck. _Your neck is cold_ , she told herself. _No reason to put it up_.

Jimmy was watching TV, laying on his stomach as Looney Tunes whistled, screeched, and smashed each other with cartoon anvils. “Hey! You’re home.”

Ruth crossed over to her son’s place on the carpet, groaning as she bent down. “I’m concerned that you sound more and more surprised whenever I come home from work,” she joked.

“You’re the one who keeps finding new jobs. What’re you up to now? Ten?”

“I still have just the two, thank you. But I wasn’t scheduled at the diner today, so I get the whole evening to relax.”

”We’re doing a little better with money,” Jimmy said. “Maybe you could just stick with the new office job. Have more time to yourself.”

Jimmy wasn’t wrong—their financial situation had improved a bit. Even down to finding cash in between the couch cushions, and a few strangely unwrinkled dollars escaping to the bottom of her purse. That said, there was no such thing as too much money. She had decided to keep her diner job for this reason. Even after Chuck put in a good word at a local law office looking for a secretary. Her pride had taken a blow when she had to ask her own son for a favor, but her new boss, Leopold Klein, made her feel comfortable. Chuck had called him a “mentor.” Leo had a charm that reminded her of a bygone era. A modern-day Clark Gable, right down to his mustache and carefully coiffed gray hair.

After sneaking that first kiss from Leo in his office, Ruth needed to keep her second job in case the other shoe dropped.

“Did you eat?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Alright, well, thanks to last week’s Thanksgiving holiday and some neighbors who feel very sorry for us, we have food for days. I’ll heat up some turkey and potatoes and we can watch TV for a bit.”

Ruth patted Jimmy on the back, a signal to get up and get ready for dinner. No matter how small it was, there was no possible way a mother could miss the flinch and pained hiss Jimmy just gave.

Her brow furrowed. “What was that?”

Jimmy shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

Ruth was already lifting the layers covering Jimmy’s back. Her eyes widened at the large purple blotch on his back, green and yellow outlining it.“Oh my god, Jimmy!”

“It’s nothing!”

“This is not nothing! Your back is one giant bruise!”

“I… slipped on some ice. Fell wrong.”

“You could have really hurt yourself, Jimmy! I mean, not just a bruise the size of Illinois—you could have broken a bone or cracked your skull open. You could have died!”

Jimmy stared at the carpet. “I’m sorry,” he moaned.

”I don’t need you to be sorry,” Ruth huffed. “I need you to be more careful.”

“Fine. I’ll be more careful,” he groaned.

There was something missing from his promise, but his understanding of her fear was enough. “Good. Let’s get ready to eat.”

“Why are you still wearing your scarf?”

Shit. ”I get so cold so easily nowadays...” She said. “Your mom’s becoming an old woman. The scarf keeps me warm.”

Jimmy said nothing as he waited. What was he waiting for? Ruth thought. Whatever it was, he didn’t get it. He stood up, wincing as he got to both feet. He walked straight to the kitchen cabinet to take down two dinner plates.

“Hey!” she said, putting on a new smile and clapping her hands together. “I was talking to Gretchen the other day, and apparently the Cicero Community Players are doing The Music Man in January. You wanna go?”

Jimmy shrugged, didn’t look at her as he took out foil-wrapped turkey from the fridge.

“Not really,” he said.

* * *

“Forging driver’s licenses?”

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“It is a big deal, Jimmy! You’re being suspended from school—you’re lucky you weren’t expelled!”

“Fine, I’ll stop! Jesus!”

Jimmy opened the passenger door before Ruth stopped the car, brakes screeching to a halt and the gear thunking as it shifted into park. Her fifteen-year-old son marched ahead of her, shoving the house key into the lock and ramming the front door open with his shoulder. Ruth’s high heels slowed her down, but she followed as quickly as she could accompanied by the click-clack of her shoes.

“I’m not done talking to you, young man!”

“Maybe you should talk to stepdad instead!”

“Leo is not your stepdad!”

“Yet!”

_ Slam _ ! The door to his bedroom whammed shut in her face. Ruth pounded her fist against the door, and inside music started blaring from Jimmy’s record player. “ _ Well, come on, come on, come on, come on— _ “

“You are grounded!” she shouted over the noise. “Do you hear me? Grounded! For two  _ months _ ! No TV, no movie theatres, no hanging out with friends on the weekends—and I’m going to take that record player out of that room the moment that I can.”

The volume inched upwards, drowning out the sound of her voice from within. “ _ Take it! _ ” the roughened voice of a woman dared. “ _ Take another little piece of my heart now baby… _ ”

“I will  _ not _ have a juvenile delinquent in this house!” Ruth all but screamed, giving the door one last smack with her palm before tearing of her heels and stomping into the kitchen. She rummaged the fridge for an already opened bottle of red wine and poured a hefty amount into a chipped coffee mug. Jimmy’s music could be heard, and she darkly hoped that it would deafen his hearing.  _ At least I could give his principal a single reason for him not listening to me _ , she thought.

Ruth swirled the red liquid around in the mug, watching it threaten to jump out and over the rim.  _ I could call Leo _ , she thought.  _ I could use someone on my side. _

After two months of sneaking around with Leo with every free moment that they had—a hasty lunch date in his office, stolen moments of hand-holding as he walked her to her car after closing, calling out sick at the diner so that she could spend an hour with him in his bedroom—she told Chuck the truth. He sounded surprised over the phone, but not upset. He told her he was very happy for her and that he hoped Leo was treating her well. It seemed genuine enough on the surface. Jimmy, on the other hand, did not take the news so well. In fact, when she had finally introduced the two, it was the first time she had ever seen Jimmy I-love-people-and-they-love-me McGill act cold toward another person.

The doorbell’s ring called her attention back to the present situation. She took a sip of her wine before setting it down and going to open the door. A sweet, round face smiled at her. Joan’s boy had gotten taller and a little chubbier, but he still reminded her of a cherub.

“Hi, Mrs. McGill,” Marco greeted. “Can I see Jimmy?”

“Jimmy‘s grounded,” she said curtly.

Marco’s chocolate eyes widened, his lips curved into a small ‘o.’ 

“Oh… o-okay,” he stuttered. “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. McGill.”

Ruth rubbed at her forehead. “Ugh, I’m sorry, Marco. That was rude. I’m just a little… Anyway, Jimmy’s going to be grounded for a while. You’ll see him at school when… well, when he’s back at school, I guess.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. McGill. I just… wanted to check in. See how he was doing.”

Marco’s hands had remained in both of his pockets from the moment she opened the door, and his feet had been shuffling back and forth. Ruth liked Marco, but he and Jimmy were friends for a reason.

“Marco, is there something you want me to tell Jimmy?”

He shook his head. “Um… no, nothing. Just, uh…”

Marco paused, his mouth flattened into a line as he thought about something. He thought about it long and hard. Then he spoke. “I don’t like lying to you, Mrs. McGill. So… I’m not gonna.”

He pulled his hand out of his right pocket and held out a crinkled ball compiled of dollar bills. Ruth’s focus shifted between the boy and his wad of cash. He waited. He shrugged. Was he waiting for her to take it?

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It’s money.”

“I can see it’s money, Marco. Why are you handing it to me?”

“Let’s just say I found a way to pay you back for all those Little Debbie’s you let me have.”

Something suddenly clicked, and Ruth worked through the last two or three years.

_ Forging driver’s licenses. _

_ A large purple bruise on a teenage boy’s back. _

_ Cash and coins stuffed between couch cushions, and found at the bottom of her purse. _

_ Charlie looking up at her, saying, “Chuck believes that Jimmy has been taking money from the till.” _

“How did you earn this money, Marco?”

Marco’s cheeks turned red. “I just want to pay you two back, is all.”

Not ‘you.’  _ You two. _ Marco’s hand shook the money a bit, a few loose dollars waving like a white flag. “Please, take it,” he whispered.

Ruth swallowed, and tenderly reached out with both hands. He released his grip and the little ball of money sat in her palms. It looked like a wounded bird made of American currency.

“Jimmy just wanted to help,” Marco offered. “He’s a good guy.”

“He can be,” she replied.

Later that night, she knocked on Jimmy’s door. There was no reply. She talked through the door anyway.

“I know why you did it,” she said. “But I mean what I said: I will not have a juvenile delinquent in this house. You do that again, you’re moving out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music mentioned is “Piece of My Heart” by Janis Joplin.


	6. Younger Than Springtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth watches history repeat itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: reference to abortion

Ruth sat in her car, wiping her lipstick off with a handkerchief and staining the cloth red. “He’ll turn up,” Leo had said yesterday. He had comforted her and held her through the night and into that morning before leaving for work together. She had actually let him spend the night at her home, something she was still incredibly shy and shameful about. Her house was so small, it was so shabby compared to his, and the bed she slept in was still the bed she had shared with Charlie. Leo was so patient, and her mind and heart were so far away.

Then right before she was about to leave the office for the night, the phone rang. It had been the call she was waiting for. She was relieved. And she was also _livid._

Chuck was waiting for her on the front step. He looked so distinguished in a black suit and tie, and for a moment she almost believed he was older than she was. He had always carried himself like an older gentleman, and now that he was in his mid-thirties, he was finally starting to age into it. She released a shaky exhale, stepping out of the car and walked up the path to where he stood.

“Is he in there?” she asked him

He nodded. “They both are.”

_Both._

“Thank you for this, Chuck.”

“Can’t say I was expecting this. I mean, I never put anything past Jimmy, but this took me by surprise.”

Ruth couldn’t help herself as she wrapped her arms around her oldest boy. He allowed it to happen, performing his usual three pats on the shoulder. When he was about five-years-old, he told her about this new signal he had for hugs. “Three pats. It means ‘thank you, please stop,’” he lisped through two missing teeth. As he grew up, it developed into something of a reciprocal nature. He was still uncomfortable with physical affection, but if he loved the person? He wouldn’t argue.

“Well, I have to… confront this,” Ruth said, releasing him from her embrace and wrapping her arms around herself. “You should probably take a walk and then come back.”

“I actually have some work I needed to finish by tonight,” Chuck admitted. “Nothing dire, of course. But still, I need to go back to the hotel. I’ll call you tomorrow to check in. Let me know if you need anything else.”

Ruth pressed a kiss to his cheek and the two wished each other a goodnight. Chuck’s rental car revved to life and the engine’s hum faded as it drove away into the night.

* * *

Ruth opened the door, closing it behind her as the latch caught with a click. On the couch were two seventeen-year-old children, one head bent down in shame and the other staring at her with defiance. Both on the cusp of adulthood but still making stupid mistakes that only children could. There would never be a more memorable duo in her mind. Laurel and Hardy, Lucy and Ethel, Bonnie and Clyde.

And now added to that list? James Morgan McGill and Mary Margaret Donovan.

“Explain yourself,” Ruth demanded.

“Mary and I got married,” Jimmy replied.

“Oh no, you _tried_ to get married,” Ruth clarified. “From what I can cobble together from the police, Chuck, and your best man, Marco Pasternak, this is what happened: Four days ago, you two disappear. I am terrified, and I have Mr. and Mrs. Donovan screaming at me and blaming me for your actions. I called your brother in tears because my son is missing, and I need him near because I don’t know if we’re going to find you alive or dead.

“Then today, I get a call at Leo’s office. It’s Chuck, and he’s at the police station. He told me that you two had been picked up at St. Leonard’s. Apparently you two asked the priest there to marry you. And bless that man for noticing something was off about the marriage certificate you asked him to sign afterward. Because guess what? You two weren’t the first teenagers that had the thought, ‘Hey, let’s run away from home and get married like we’re in a Shakespeare play!’”

“Mom! We’re old enough to get married if we want to!” Jimmy and Mary were gripping each other’s hands. Young love, and all that.

“Only if you’re eighteen. But you’re _seventeen_ , Jimmy!” Ruth snapped. “Otherwise you need the consent of your parents. Ask me how I know that? If your grandparents were alive, they can give you eyewitness accounts.”

Chuck had been at the house, waiting by the phone while Ruth was at work. Mary’s parents were called as well, but they had told the police that they would pick her up in the morning. He asked why, the reason given was “to teach her a lesson.” When Chuck had passed on this information, Ruth insisted that he bring Mary to the house with Jimmy.

“Mary,” Ruth said, her voice gentling, “you’re being awfully quiet.”

Upon hearing her name, Mary slumped forward like a wilting flower that somehow decided it had too much sunlight on her. Her black hair fell over her green eyes.

“Leave her alone,” Jimmy warned.

Ruth paused. There was no point pretending that she didn’t know why they tried to elope. She thought about Charlie, his constant prayers, how he begged God for forgiveness every night for his sins while also thanking him for the family his sins brought him.

“How far along are you?” she asked.

Mary’s head didn’t lift up. But from behind her curtain of dark locks, she answered back. “The lady at the clinic said eight weeks.”

“Do your parents know?” Ruth asked.

Mary shook her head, hair swinging back and forth. Jimmy’s defiance deflated a bit. For the first time in his life, he looked less like her and more like Charlie.

“Jimmy, go to your room.”

“Mom—“

“I said go to your room,” Ruth ordered. “I need to speak to Mary alone.”

Jimmy’s fire re-ignited, but he did as he was told. He kissed Mary’s hair briefly and whispered an “I love you” before shuffling off to his bedroom. Ruth listened for her cue. The moment a door creaked to its close, she pulled a chair away from the dining table and sat opposite Mary.

“How do you feel?” Ruth asked. “You’re not in trouble. Not with me, anyway. I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Mary said. She plucked and chipped at the bright pink fingernail polish on her left thumb.

“Good,” Ruth said.

“He didn’t hurt me, by the way.”

Ruth tilted her head. “Who didn’t hurt you?”

“Jimmy. The cops, the priest, and Chuck were asking me if he hurt me or was forceful. And no matter what I said, it felt like they didn’t believe me. So I’m telling you before you ask me—he didn’t hurt me.” Mary paused, and then added. “It was actually my idea.”

Ruth felt a sudden wave of deja vu fall over her. _Charlie, it’s fine! I want to! I love you, c’mon!_

“Mary,” she started to say. Ruth stopped, choosing her words carefully before continuing. She rubbed her hands together, a slow motion that gave her something to focus on. Something to ground her as she continued to talk to this girl who she shared more with than she thought.

“I’m angry with Jimmy,” Ruth said. “But I’m also proud of him for trying to do what he thought was right. It’s something his father would have done—well, it’s something his father _did_. I was a little younger than you when I had Jimmy’s older brother, Chuck. I was barely seventeen, and I already had a husband and a baby boy. My parents were furious when they found out I was pregnant. Charlie was terrified, but he proposed anyway. And me? I was… I was scared. And back then, I didn’t have a lot of options. But at the same time… it all seemed to make sense to me. I wanted this baby, I wanted Charlie. I wanted the rest of my life to begin as soon as possible.

“But, I had friends who didn’t. Some of them had babies anyway, grew to love them. Some of them had their babies, and didn’t love them at all. And then some of them… well, some of them took matters in their own hands. It was scary back then—they were risking their lives doing what they did.”

Mary’s head lifted up, her large hazel eyes peeking out. Ruth’s hands continued going back and forth against each other. Back and forth, back and forth…

“So much has changed since I was your age. More opportunities are available to young women like you. You can raise a family, you can have a career, or both. And this Supreme Court decision a few years back… if my parents had heard about that, their little Catholic hearts would have given out. Hell, Charlie’s heart, too. But then I think… I knew I wanted a family. Even before I knew Charlie, I wanted to have a family. And when it happened, I may not have been ready, but I wanted it. And Charlie was there because he wanted to do the right thing and he wanted it, too.”

Ruth looked up from her hands and Mary’s eyes were glassy, her bottom lip trembling with effort of trying to hold back. It was heartbreaking.

“Mary,” Ruth murmured. “If you want this baby, Jimmy has shown he is ready to be by your side, marry you, be a father, and do the right thing by you. And I will be there for you, too. Whatever you need. But Mary, this is your life, and you shouldn’t have to do anything if you don’t want it.”

* * *

Mary scheduled the appointment on the Friday of the following week. She asked Ruth if she could drive her there. When she went to pick her up, Jimmy was there, getting into the car and holding her hand. Mother and son sat in the waiting room together where they both stared at the wallpaper in front of them in complete silence.

That night, Ruth sat next to Jimmy as he lay in his bed, facing away from her. He didn’t look at her, didn’t talk to her. Tears streamed down his face, and it seemed he was even trying to stifle the sounds of whimpers and sniffles just to spite her. She just sat with him, running her fingers through his hair. He let her.

Mary and Jimmy broke up three weeks later.

* * *

The moment he turned eighteen, Jimmy moved in with Marco Pasternak.

Ruth McGill, at age fifty-three, lived alone for the first time in her whole life.


	7. There is Nothing Like a Dame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth attends Chuck’s wedding, and something explodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 1x03 “Nacho,” Chuck mentions that no one has heard from Jimmy in five years. In 2x05 “Rebecca,” Jimmy begins to apologize for their wedding.
> 
> Why do I have a feeling those events are linked?

At home in Cicero, Ruth McGill had found a small frame for the invitation. After all, she needed to preserve the proof of it.

_You are joyfully invited to celebrate the marriage of_

_Rebecca Simone Bois_

_ & _

_Charles Lindbergh McGill_

_On Sunday, March 1, 1987_

_At the Canyon Club_

_In Albequerque, New Mexico_

Chuck had brought over the occasional girlfriend, but none of the few relationships had lasted for more than a year or two. Ruth had accepted that Chuck would be perfectly happy living a life dedicated to his career, surrounded by books. He was always a cerebral type, and he made sure everyone knew it. Some of her mothering had involved reminding him that his tone came off as rude or arrogant, or dumbing it down to a simple “you’re being an ass, dear.”

There was something about Rebecca that calmed that nature in Chuck. She was his equal in intelligence, but her manner was both distinguished and open-hearted. When the two had flown out to Cicero, Chuck suggested the three go out to dinner and see a film. Chuck had chosen a restaurant so nice that Ruth felt like Little Orphan Annie entering a mansion, but Rebecca was kind and talked easily with her. Chuck, meanwhile, watched the two of them and the table vibrated from the nervous energy of his leg bouncing up and down, up and down. When Rebecca excused herself to go to the powder room, Ruth leaned over and put her hand on Chuck’s knee. It stopped bouncing and his cheeks turned pink.

“I like her,” she told him. Chuck gazed at his mother, and he smiled so wide that her heart ached at the sweetness of it. In his early forties, Chuck had found the love of his life. And it had nothing to do with the court of law.

“Oh, Chuck. I’m so happy for you,” Ruth beamed, catching her son up in a hug.

Chuck grinned, wrapped one arm around his mother. Three pats. Some things never change.

“Thanks, Mom. Are you having a good time?”

“Chuck, I’ve already cried out of sheer joy three times today. How much more of a good time could I handle?”

“Mom, I believe you’ve met George Hamlin,” Chuck said. Ruth had been so focused on her son that she had not noticed the tall, strong gentleman next to him.

“Oh!”—she gently smacked her head, the universal sign for ‘I’m-a-big-idiot’—“I’m so sorry, yes, George. How are you?”

“Ruth, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” George replied, taking her hand and presenting the perfect image of jovial and polite. “How has the snow been treating you up in Illinois?”

“Well, I’m of Irish blood, so I’m much better in the cold than I am in this desert heat. Then again, like most Irish folk, if I don’t like the weather I’ll just drink so much whiskey that I sleep through it.”

She and George laughed together, but even after all these years, she took pride in embarrassing her children. She turned to Chuck, touching his shoulder and mouthing a “sorry” with a wrinkled nose and a mischievous grin. Chuck didn’t speak, but his tight-lipped smile said everything.

“You know,” George said, “you have one amazing son here. My own boy owes his success to this man—Chuck has been offering him wisdom and advice since he was deep in the trenches of his first year. Chuck even found the time to help him study for the bar exam. And god bless him, my boy Howard passed on the first try! I couldn’t ask for a better partner.”

“He is something, isn’t he? I’m gonna bet that he gets that sweetness from his father.” Ruth tilted her head and winked at Chuck. His tight-lipped smile relaxed—he loved being told he shared the good parts of his father. Neither she or the boys shared Charlie’s beliefs, but to Chuck, his father may as well have been a saint.

George excused himself to mingle, and Chuck leaned in. “By the way, I hope it’s not strange with Leo here.”

Ruth rolled her eyes. “Chuckie, it’s fine. Leo and I actually took the same plane here.”

Chuck’s eyes widened. “What?”

She shrugged, gracefully snatched a glass of champagne from a passing tray, and took a sip. Despite the fact that she and Leo had parted ways eight years prior, Chuck had spent every moment since fretting over any time he mentioned seeing Leo at a conference or meeting with him for dinner. Leo would call her every now and then, asking if she shared the same anxious conniption Chuck had just had with him. She and Leo were such a wonderful team. It was a shame that only one disagreement had driven them apart: he wanted to marry her. And she told him “no.”

“Hello, Ruth!”

Ruth turned and felt a fresh batch of happy tears stinging her eyes.

“Rebecca, you are a vision in that dress!” The two women embraced—a challenge when one of them was wearing a large puffy skirt compiled of satin and tulle.

“Thank you so much!” Rebecca said, pulling back to adjust the veil on her head. “Oh, I have been playing hostess for the last three hours. My feet are killing me.”

Ruth batted Rebecca’s hands away, shifting the combs gently and draping the veil just so. She remembered her own mother doing this for her. It was nice being able to do the same for someone else.

“Well, your pain doesn’t show at all,” Ruth assured. “And the ceremony was so beautiful.”

Rebecca nudged Chuck’s side with her shoulder before curling into his side. “I’m just glad that I was able to talk Chuck out of a courthouse wedding,” she teased.

“I just wanted to marry you,” Chuck argued. “I didn’t need the flowers and the string quartet.”

“Well, I needed the flowers,” Rebecca grinned. “As for the string quartet, I had friends who wanted to contribute. Who am I to say no?”

“Jesus Christ, Danielle! What’re you—“

The mood between Ruth, Chuck, and Rebecca dampened.

“Oh god…” Chuck groaned. “Really?”

Obscenities and incoherent insults were hurled back and forth between a man and a woman off the dance floor. His face was red as he pointed at someone away from them, jabbing a finger at the mystery person. She, on the other hand, was throwing her head back and started to exaggeratedly laugh and clap at whatever was being said. He threw his hands up in the air, and she shoved her middle finger in his face.

“ _You’re a fucking loser, Jimmy!_ ” she shrieked loud enough for everyone to hear, and exited the ballroom.

Chuck shook his head, whispered to Rebecca, “Now do you see why we should have tried harder to lose their invitation.”

Jimmy stared at where Danielle had been for three beats. Three… two… one… and then he turned all his fury toward the mystery person. “ _Leo, you motherfucker!_ ”

Ruth pardoned herself as she raced over to Jimmy. Her own speed surprised her—almost sixty and in heels, nonetheless—and grabbed her youngest son’s upper arm in a vice grip. She dragged him to the corner of the ballroom as Chuck and Rebecca decided now would be a great time to divert attention away from the crazy yelling man cut the cake.

“Jimmy, what is wrong with you?” Ruth demanded.

“Leo—dear old stepdad—had his paws all over Danielle!”

Jimmy had mentioned that he was seeing somebody the year, her name was Danielle, but it wasn’t “serious.” When she mentioned this to Joan Pasternak on her last day at the diner, Joan said, “Oh yeah, I’ve met her. But I gotta tell you, Ruthie, she treats Jimmy like shit.”

Ruth had received a postcard from Jimmy that had traveled all the way from Las Vegas. It had a picture of an older, fatter, and sadder Elvis in a sparkling white jumpsuit with a large color. On the back, a simple message: “ _Danielle and I got hitched!_ ”

It was her worst nightmare. A nightmare she pretended she wasn’t having when she invited them over for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Of course, when she asked Jimmy if he knew where her grandmother’s pearl necklace was, or what happened to the earrings Charlie gave her for her twenty-fifth birthday, Jimmy would say he had no clue. She fell asleep to the sound of fighting, and Danielle would present the lost pieces of jewelry.

“I found them by the toilet,” the younger woman said on Christmas morning. Ruth had to admit that she admired how Danielle didn’t even bother to feign guilt. Why pretend to be something you’re not?

“Leo isn’t your stepfather, and he would never go near Danielle,” Ruth said. There was clapping from the crowd—she was missing the cake cutting ceremony to prevent her son from punching her ex-boyfriend’s lights out. Every mother’s dream.

“Why don’t you believe me!”

Ruth shook her head. “I don’t know who to believe, Jimmy. This isn’t the first time Danielle has done something like—“

“What are you talking about?”

“This isn’t the first time, Jimmy! This has been happening over and over again, Jimmy.”

“Are you calling my wife a whore?”

Ruth pinched the bridge of her nose as a headache started to arise. “Jesus Christ on the cross, Jimmy...”

“That’s what you’re implying!” Jimmy continued. “You’re saying that my wife—the love of my life—is a whore!”

“Don’t raise your voice to me!” Ruth reprimanded. “And if that’s the love of your life, I’m worried about the example that I set—“

“What example?” Jimmy bellowed. He became more and more agitated as he spoke, his hands moving and gesticulating with every sentence, every point he set out to make.

“All you do is ruin marriages!” he claimed. “You wanna ruin another marriage of mine? Go ahead! You’re real good at ruining marriages. I mean, you must have had a taste of the power you could wield when you were ready to split with Dad. Oh, are you surprised? I don’t see why! You were practically screaming at him every other night, and you found every chance you could get to sleep in a different room. By the way, the two of you, really bad about organizing your paperwork, especially legal documents like divorce papers. No wonder Dad killed—!”

The smack of her hand against his cheek was loud enough to clap through the ballroom, and hard enough to make Jimmy’s knees buckle over and send him to the ground. Ruth’s hand burned from the impact, but her rage burned white hot in comparison.

“You want me to be the bad guy?” she fumed over him. “Do you need someone to blame for you problems? Fine. I’ll let you have that. Yes, I think your wife is a whore. Yes, your father killed himself and obviously it was all my fault. And yes, I just slapped my youngest son at my oldest son’s wedding”—she turned to make eye contact with the ring of people around her—“where there are over one hundred people watching and listening to every word I say. I’m causing a fucking scene!”

She stood over Jimmy, and for a brief moment, she could almost see the little boy he used to be. “I have my regrets, believe me. But I refuse to take blame for the sins of other people. Not even my own children.”

Ruth turned her back on her son and strode out of the ballroom with her chin up. Her heels clicked with each step, the walls creating a grand echo upon her exit. If life were a movie, this would have been the perfect ending—a woman finally standing up for herself after giving her entire life to the men of her family.

The driver’s side door barely closed before the rental car could muffle her pained wails.

Neither Chuck nor Jimmy came out to find her.

Rebecca, on the other hand, knocked on the car door and sat in the passenger seat. Her long white gown protruded from the car, draping over the gravel and becoming stained by debris.

“You should go back inside,” Ruth said.

Rebecca pursed her lips, turned her wrist over to examine the clock face of a dainty gold watch. “I’ll head back in about fifteen minutes,” Rebecca promised.

“I’m sorry I ruined your wedding,” Ruth mumbled.

Rebecca shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

_“It’s not your fault, Jimmy.”_

_“I should have done something.”_

Ruth collapsed back into tears, burying her face in her hands. Rebecca just sat with her, placed a hand on her shoulder as the old woman sobbed.


	8. Some Enchanted Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth McGill gets the surprise of her life one evening when she hears from her estranged son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You didn’t cry and beg Mom for help?”
> 
> “Jesus! She hears what she wants to hear, okay?”
> 
> \- Chuck and Jimmy, 1x03 “Nacho”

Ruth McGill had been watching an old episode of _The Carol Burnett Show_ when the phone began to ring. On the first ring she stared at the phone. On the second she examined the clock on the nearest wall—9:24pm on a Saturday night. On the third, she made her way over to the phone. _Probably someone looking for the wrong number. Or a prank caller..._

“McGill residence, Ruth speaking,” she answered.

“Hey, Mom.”

Ruth almost stopped breathing.

“Jimmy?”

“Yeah. I guess I’m lucky you didn’t move, huh?”

Five years. It had been five years since she had spoken to her son. She had picked up the phone multiple times to call, only to hang up over and over. Chuck had insisted that she stop chasing after Jimmy—if Jimmy wanted to talk, _he_ would have to make amends and _he_ would have to be the one calling.

“Mom, are you still there?” he asked. His voice sounded hoarse. That is, it already had a natural rasp to it, but it sounded more hoarse than usual.

“I… yes, sorry, I’m still here,” Ruth stuttered. “Um…is—h-how are you?”

“Listen, I don’t have a lot of time. Can you, um… can you get a hold of Chuck? I don’t have his number, and I could… I just need to get a hold of him. You know?”

She remembered that hoarse sound now. She remembered a large bruise on a pale and thin back. Holding her little boy tightly as he mourned the loss of his father. A young man declaring war on the world because someone broke his heart. It was the sound of someone in pain.

“Jimmy, where are you?”

There was a pause, and she could hear Jimmy swallow over the receiver.

“Cook County Jail,” he mumbled.

“Jesus, Jimmy! What happened? Are you hurt—is anyone hurt?”

“No one’s hurt. I don’t…” Another pause. When he spoke again, Jimmy made a noise akin to someone trying to find strength despite falling apart. “I screwed up, Mom.”

Ruth’s eyes began to water. “I’m coming to get you.”

“Mom, no—”

“I’ll pay your bail. I’ll take out a loan if I have to, but I’m coming to get you.”

“No, Mom, bail isn’t gonna cut it. It’s gonna take more than that. I can’t explain—“ he stopped, took a breath. “Just… get a hold of Chuck, okay? Please?—alright, I’m wrapping up, Jesus Christ! Look, Mom, I have to go. Don’t worry about me, okay?”

 _Click_. The other line emitted a low tone. The noise tempted Ruth to pull the device out of the wall and hurl it across the room. Instead, she dialed long distance to New Mexico. He answered it on the first ring.

“Charles McGill.” He had gotten to the phone before Rebecca. Good, she could get straight to the point.

“Chuck, it’s Mom. I need you to come home.”

“Mom? What are you doing up? It’s 9:30pm over there. Wait, why do I need to come home? Is everything alright?”

“Jimmy’s in trouble, and he asked me to get a hold of you.”

“He’s in trouble, is he?” Chuck’s worry shifted into disdain. _Of course, he’s in trouble,_ it said. _You shouldn’t sound so surprised._

“I’ll pay for your flight,” Ruth urged. “You can stay at the house while we get this sorted.“

“I can afford to pay for my own plane ticket and a hotel, Mom. But he’s going to have to accept responsibility for his own actions—”

“Charles McGill,” Ruth bellowed. “I know that you have no idea what it’s like for a parent to hear their child crying and begging for help, but let me assure you that my worst fear is knowing my children are in pain and not being able to do anything about it! Now get on a plane and help me!”

Ruth was shaking from the fear that had been coursing through her, and the calm silence on the other end of the line was doing no favors.

“I’ll arrange a flight,” Charles muttered. “But it will have to wait until the morning.”

Ruth closed her eyes, relieved if only for a moment. Someone was coming. Chuck was coming to help her. Coming to help Jimmy.

“Thank you, Chuck.”

* * *

For the second time that month, Ruth’s nightly routine had been interrupted. She was washing the dishes and humming an old Sondheim tune when there was a knock at the door. The clock read 8:15pm, and while burglars would rarely knock on the door, she lived alone in Cicero. She wiped the soapy suds off of the kitchen knife and held it up as she crossed to the front door. She turned the knob, and cracked it open.

Her eyes widened as she recognized the face that peeked through the cracked.

“Jimmy.”

“Hi, Mom.”

Ruth opened the door wider, revealing her pajama set and flannel robe to her son and the entire neighborhood.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said.

“I noticed,” he deadpanned, nodding toward the weapon in her hand. She blushed and curled her arm behind her back, hiding the knife.

“I’m so sorry,” she spluttered. “Please, come in!”

Ruth stepped aside and let Jimmy pass by her. She closed the door behind them and stood opposite of him. There had always been a thin metal border between the carpeted living space and the linoleum floor of the kitchen and dining area. It might as well have been the Berlin Wall, and it didn’t help that the awkward silence was thick enough that it could suffocate a person like smoke.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Ruth asked.

Jimmy shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Where’s Chuck?”

“He’s at the hotel. He needed to go over a case or a brief or something like that. I thought I’d get out of his hair for a minute. Took a taxi.”

Another long pause. Ruth’s eyes wandered over Jimmy’s face as he kept his gaze on the floor. She hadn’t seen her son in five years. How could he look so different? He was thirty-years-old, but he looked so worn down. Her mother had told her once that worry lines were an inevitability for anyone who had children—“All you do is worry”—and Ruth’s worry lines had finally caught up to her in the last five years. But Jimmy had lines across his forehead, crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, creases around his mouth. What happened to that little boy who would run around their store? The little boy who laughed at her jokes and made her laugh in return?

“Your hair is long,” she observed. Jimmy looked up at her, a smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

“Good eye,” he replied.

“A few days ago, Chuck told me that you’re going to Albuquerque with him. That he may have a job for you there?”

“Yeah, he’s pulling a few strings at his office,” he explained. “Mailroom. Something easy. Low stakes.”

Ruth took a tentative step, reached up to brush his bangs out of his eyes. “If that’s the case, you’ll need to get a haircut. Shorter. More professional.”

He waved a hand and said, “I figured with the McGill family history of stress and balding, I’d give it a chance for it all fall out at once by the time we land.”

“That’s possible. It never hurts to have a backup plan, though.”

“Alright, if that doesn’t happen, I’ll shave it off myself.”

“Wonderful. Send pictures when you do.”

“I will. And then you can say, ‘That’s my son, the Irish Yul Brynner.’”

“Happily.” In her mind, the word was meant to be the punchline to a joke. Instead, as it left her mouth, it rounded of its edges in translation. The punchline became a genuine comment. It knocked Jimmy off-balance, and the personable, witty facade fell away.

“I’m so sorry, Mom.”

Ruth let the words sit. _I’m sorry_ . She never expected to hear it from anybody. And when they were spoken, she couldn’t trust them. It was rarely about remorse over the actions that caused the hurt, but rather a polite phrase used as a peace treaty. Her parents did Charlie did it, Chuck did it, Jimmy did it—hell, _she_ did it. It was a meaningless but powerful spell that family said to keep the family intact.

For the first time, she felt the weight of someone’s regret.

“So am I,” Ruth said.

“Mom, no. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jimmy insisted. “I’m the one who fucked up. I said _horrible_ things to you. Especially at Chuck’s wedding: I was drunk and angry… that’s not an excuse, it’s just what happened. And I was _such_ a shitty kid—”

“I’m not saying that those things didn’t happen,” she clarified. “And I’m not saying that they didn’t hurt me. They hurt me deeply. But I know I wasn’t the easiest person to live with.”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “Have you met Chuck?”

“Jimmy…” she softly admonished.

“Sorry. Good joke, bad timing.”

Ruth sighed, pulled out a chair, and wrapped herself tightly in her flannel robe before sitting down. She threw a brief glance to the chair next to her. Her son took the hint, the chair legs scraped against the floor before he took a seat. The collar of his peacock blue paisley shirt was curled up—had it been that way the whole time?—and she leaned forward to bend it back in place. She smoothed it out as best she could before she leaned back and began to piece together every thought, every word she had in the last five years.

“When you were about four or five-years-old,” she started, “you asked me and your father why you were so much younger than Chuck. Chuck had just come to visit us during a break from law school, and you were so excited to have him home. You followed him everywhere he went… you were practically his shadow. I think Chuck liked it more than he let on. He even set up a tent in the backyard and you two would huddle back there. You were a mess when it came time for him to get back to D.C. You had your head buried into your pillow and cried, ‘Why don’t I have any more brothers? Why don’t I have any sisters?’ And Charlie told you that you and Chuck were miracles that happened when they needed to happen.

“I never shared your father’s… spirituality. I still don’t. But it’s true: you were my miracle. I made so many mistakes with Chuck—I was a child raising a child, you know. And I kept telling myself that I would get another chance to get it right.” Ruth stopped, wondering how honest was too honest. She could look Jimmy in the eye, present a picture of a strong mother. But she was tired, and she kept her eyes down as her son watched her take off her armor.

“I lost three pregnancies in the course of fourteen years,” she confessed. “I told Charlie that I was done trying. He wanted to talk about it, but I told him that there was nothing to talk about. There are only so many times that your heart can be broken, and I needed what was left of it for my husband and Chuck. Then, at the ripe old age of thirty-four, I found out I was pregnant with you.

“The minute you were born, you made it clear from the beginning that you could take care of yourself. But I couldn’t let you do that. All I wanted to do was protect you and make sure that you didn’t experience any pain or danger. I don’t know if I did a very good job of that.” Godammit, she was starting to cry. She swiped at the first tear that trailed down her cheek and pressed forward.

“I feel like I failed because pain and danger still found you…” she lamented. “In some cases you searched it out. And then there were the times when I was the cause of it. When I lost your dad, I was determined not to lose you. And I did anyway.”

The floodgates opened, and Ruth buried her head in her hands. If she had to weep, fine, but there was no need for anyone to witness it. For sixty-five years, she had built up a presence of an immovable woman who had faced tragedy and withstood all of it. A personality to rival that of the great and powerful Wizard of Oz. But the curtain had been pulled back by her own hand, revealing a small and frail old woman who wanted nothing more than her babies to be safe.

A hand touched her shoulder, blunt fingers gripping her tenderly. “You didn’t lose me, Mom.”

It’s an odd thing when relief makes a person cry harder. Jimmy’s hand stayed in place as Ruth let the feelings pour over. As they subsided and the tears alleviated, her head began to ache while her cheeks felt numb. She patted away the wet streaks under her eyes, her face warm from the effort that came from releasing decades of pent up emotions in under ten minutes.

“Are you okay?” Jimmy asked. Ruth looked at him, at his hair that was too long, and his clothes that were too loud. _My baby boy_ , she thought.

“Yes,” she sniffled, breathed through her mouth and exhaled slowly. “So… you defecated through a sunroof?”

“I’ll give you every last dollar that I have if you never mention that again.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again as she chuckled, catching his hand in hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I rarely do notes at the end of a chapter, but I just wanted to say thank you real quick for reading.
> 
> There are maybe two chapters left before we get to the end. This is probably the quickest turnaround for anything I’ve ever written, so I hope you’ve been enjoying this very, very fast ride.


	9. Honey Bun (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth calls with news.

Ruth rested her head on the dining table as she listened to phone ring. Ring… ring… the sound of it echoed in her ears. Her stomach churned as it continued. Please pick up, she prayed.

Mid-ring, a voice answers. “Jimmy McGill.”

“Hi, Jimmy,” she smiled.

“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

“Oh, you know,” she said, pulling herself up into a sitting position. “I just wanted to check in, see how you were doing.”

“Are you okay? You sound a little off.”

“Oh, I’m just a little dizzy, that’s all,” she lied. “What about you? How’s work?”

“Work’s work. I push a cart, I pass out mail—it’s hard to screw that up.”

“Have you told Chuck about school?”

“Nah. I mean, I thought about it, but he’s got his hands full,“ Jimmy explained. Then he sighed and said, “Honestly? I don’t wanna get my hopes up just in case this whole ‘law school’ thing blows up in my face.”

“Jimmy, you can do this. You’re a smart man.”

“I’m not Chuck smart,” he grunted.

“No one is smart like Chuck. But as far as I’m concerned, you two have gotten this far because you’re both hard workers and too stubborn for your own good.” Ruth smirked as she asked, “Is Kim helping you with studying?”

“Mom. No.”

“What? I’m just asking you if your friend Kim is helping you study. After all, you work at the same place, you’re both studying law...”

“We’re just friends, Mom. That’s it.” Ruth knee her sons’ tells. When Chuck was frustrated, he laughed—a chortle that he forced his way through his throat to present an unflappable front. When Jimmy lied, his voice rasped a little more. And there was a special register of Jimmy’s voice that revealed when he was lying even to himself. 

“Can you still stay friends and give me a grandchild?” she teased.

“Mom!”

“Alright, alright, I was joking! It was a joke, I promise. I expect no grandchildren.”

A lull came, and this was usually the signal to let the long distance conversation go. Save a few bucks on the bill, call next week when they both could think of more today. In fact, Jimmy started the process.

“Listen, Mom, I’m gonna have to let you go. I’ve been staring at this case law so long that even the word ‘and’ doesn’t make any sense—“

But this couldn’t wait.

“Jimmy,” Ruth interrupted. “There is actually something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay, shoot.”

She has it scripted out. She was going to lead in with it gently, tell a story. Make it easy for him.

“I have a brain tumor,” she declared. The statement was out of her mouth faster than a jet, and there was no of slowing it down.

There was silence on the other end of the line. And then a quiet, “What?”

“I have a brain tumor,” Ruth repeated. She didn’t wait for Jimmy before she went back, said what she meant to say. “It’s a long story, but basically I’ve been experiencing this dizziness for a while, and it’s been getting worse. And a couple of weeks ago, I...fainted while I was at the grocery store—I know, I should have told you and Chuck, but I thought it was a migraine or something silly like that. Nothing to bother you two about. So I went to the doctor and there is… a tumor in the cerebrum. I can’t say the name for the life of me. It’s… um… it’s pretty aggressive, he says.”

The phone line was silent. Ruth couldn’t even hear Jimmy breathe. “Jimmy?” she said. “Did I lose you?”

He spoke. “Okay. Okay… yeah, okay. So, you’re going to have surgery, is what you’re saying. Which, you know, I get it. You’re probably really scared, but it’s gonna be okay. Because you’re strong, and you‘re gonna beat this.”

Shit. She was going to have to say the words. She didn’t want to.

“No, Jimmy,” she said. “I’m not having surgery.” 

“Yes, you are,” he argued. “You have to.”

“Jimmy, we have to be realistic. I’m too old—“

“You’re not too old—!”

“—the risks are too high, and any form of treatment would only buy me a little time.”

Another long pause. “How long have we got?”

Ruth brushed a tear off her cheek, cleared her throat. “Doctor Peters says about five years at most. But it could be sooner, he says. Either way, we need to… prepare ourselves.”

“Mom, what do you need me to do?” It came out as a whisper. She felt a wave of selfishness drown her senses for a moment. Yes, she knew both of her sons were building their lives out in the desert, but she want them here. She wanted the years back, and she wanted the years ahead. But exposing fear and weakness would not help her son, who was so far away and desperate to save her.

“What I want you to do,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “is for you to live as normal a life as you can. And I’m going to do the same. The only difference now is that I have a deadline.”

“Okay,” he promised.

“Thank you, Jimmy.”

“I just… I can’t believe Chuck didn’t say anything to me. Did you tell him not to say anything?”

Ruth closed her eyes. She was suddenly back in Jimmy’s bedroom, tray in hand, he still in his dress clothes from the funeral. His head bent over, picking at his nails.

“It’s my fault,” he whimpered.

“What’s your fault, sweetie?”

“Chuck told me how Dad died.” 

Goddammit, Chuck. 

“Well, there’s probably a reason for that,” Ruth answered. A half-truth was truthful enough. “Now, you have to get back to studying. And I have to go make a few more calls. But I’ll call to check in on you soon, okay?”

“I love you, Mom.” His voice cracked. She knew he always meant it, but this was one of those few times where it didn’t sound routine. 

“I love you, too, Honey Bun.”

She hung up, placing the telephone back in its housing. Breathe in, breathe out… the dizziness was setting in again, and the more steady she could be for the next call, the better. She picked the phone back up and dialed another New Mexico number. Ring… ring… 

“Hello?”

“Rebecca, hello. It’s Ruth.”

“Ruth, hello! How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know…”—no, she doesn’t—“Is Chuck able to come to the phone?”

“Chuck isn’t home yet. He’s been working nonstop recently, and he’s barely home. Do you want me to take a message? Or I could maybe—?”

“No, thank you, dear,” Ruth said. “It can wait for a bit. I’ll talk to you again, soon.”

Rebecca barely go out her “thank you” and “goodbye” before Ruth hung up the phone. 

She dialed a new number. Ring…

“You’ve reached Charles McGill of Hamlin, Hamlin, & McGill. I am currently unavailable, but leave your name and contact information—“

The phone returned to its housing unit with a _click._

Ruth rested her head again on top of the table. She’d try again later. Or Rebecca will get a hold of him. Either way, she could wait wait.

” _A hundred and one,”_ she hummed, “ _pounds of fun... she’s my little honey bun...”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last one! Aaaaahhh!
> 
> I might also be considering writing something about Jimmy’s reaction to this news in a different piece. We’ll see.


	10. Finale (Dites-Moi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruth remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cobbles together events from the previous chapters as well as 2x10 “Klick.”

“Happy birthday, Mom.”

Ruth opened her eyes. “Thank you, Jimmy”

The guests were mostly depleted, and she relaxed between Chuck and Jimmy to the side of the ballroom. Rebecca sat next to Chuck, head on his shoulder as he kept a serious gaze on the leftover partygoers. Above them all was a banner, and in large script it read, _Happy Birthday, Ruth! June 10th, 1993._

“Hey,” Jimmy whispered, suddenly solemn. “I’m sorry about Kathy and Cheryl.”

She waved one hand, the other with a firm hand on her wine glass. “It’s fine, honey.”

“But you shouldn’t have had to drive Kathy home. I had no idea—“

“Oh, Jimmy, stop worrying over me! Of course you didn’t know, it’s not like I advertise our family drama to anyone. Besides, it got me out of clean up duty.”

Jimmy lifted an eyebrow. “If you didn’t tell anyone about Cheryl or Kathy’s beef, then how did Chuck know about it?”

“Because Chuck is possessed by the ghost J. Edgar Hoover,” Ruth answered dryly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he found every record for every guest here to make sure he could prevent chaos.”

“Very funny, Mom,” Chuck replied, so dry that it could come across as cold. Dry ice was Chuck’s natural humor.

“I mean it with all the love I can muster, Chuckie.”

“Did you have a good time, Ruth?” asked Rebecca, yawning at the end.

“Well, I have to admit, I was a bit flustered by the fact that you three rented out a ballroom, and I do feel a bit guilty that poor Rebecca here played hostess to a mess of McGills, Lindberghs, and Cicero Players by herself.” Ruth smiled, and continued on to say, “That being said, I did. I had a lovely time.”

Chuck reached out, touched her shoulder. Pat, pat, pat. “Happy sixty-sixth, Mom.”

Ruth gasped theatrically. “Oh, you demon child! How dare you speak my age out loud?”

“C’mon, Mom, you look great,” said Jimmy.

“Two demon children!”

Jimmy raised his hands in question. “What? I just said you looked great!”

“One tells terrible truths and one tells horrible lies,” Ruth harrumphed, all mischief and no seriousness. “Can’t the pair of you find a nice in between?

Jimmy leaned over, addressed his older brother. “Hear that, Chuck? We throw our beloved mother a birthday party, and we’re demon children.”

“I’ll add that to my CV. Charles Lindbergh McGill, Juris Doctor, Hellspawn.”

“If you gave me demon grandchildren, I wouldn’t complain nearly as much,“ Ruth teased. 

Chuck rolled his eyes while Rebecca smiled politely and snuck her hand in her husband’s. Jimmy smirked, but there was an ache in it that broke her heart. She patted his hand—one, two, three—and he looked back at her. There was still a ways to go, but they were getting there.

“Ruth,” Charlie said softly, holding her hand as they sat on the bed. “You are a wonderful mother. And whatever happens, I will be right by you.”

 _Charlie?_ Ruth looked around her. He wasn’t there in their bedroom. She crossed to the door, where it opened into the old corner store. 

Ah, memories. They started to blend together at a certain point.

Marco Pasternak, all of twelve-years-old, ran past her as he stuffed his mouth with a Little Debbie’s Swiss cake roll. He shot a sweet chocolate-stained smile as he raced on.

Mary Tyler Moore and Lou Grant were arguing about something outside, as was the case weekly.

_“Seriously, Chuck, we gotta eat. It’s been three days, it could be three more…”_

_“Jimmy, if you want to eat, go eat.”_

_”I’ll bring you something. Roast beef, no tomato, Italian on the side. Okay? I’ll be right back.”_

Familiar voices, but distant. Voices from a memory that hadn’t happened yet. She wasn’t even sure if she was there for it, or meant to be a part of it. She shrugged, turned back to her primary focus:

Her eighteen-year-old boy holding his little brother. Both looked so lost as to what to do with the other. Chuck stared down at the baby, while the baby examined Chuck with bright eyes and anticipation.

“This is terrifying,” Chuck said. Not an admission or a confession. His tone was matter-of-fact and declarative.

“It’s absolutely terrifying,” she agreed before turning her attention as the baby started hiccuping. She cooed, “But it’s okay, right Jimmy?”

“ _Mom!”_

“Hi, Jimmy!”

_“No, Mom, it’s me, Chuck.”_

“Jimmy…”

_“No, Mom, it’s—“_

Oh, the new memory was Chuck! But now the chair where her boy and her baby were sitting was empty. He and Jimmy were probably in the other room. _Those two_ , she shook her head. _Always running off, looking for excitement._

She went to find them both as the darkness fell over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from a lyric in “Bali Ha’i,” and the chapter titles will be song titles from South Pacific.


End file.
